Black Death
by Dixie C Jones
Summary: Black Death. Boubonic Plague. It is called many a things but it still cut the known world population by 1/3s. Now see how the Nations handled it.
1. Chapter 1

"…And that is the last of it aru."

Romano scowled at China. "I could have done that myself, b******o…" He looked away grumbling so he didn't catch China's disapproving look. Romano sighed. He was just a child after all. "But thank you anyway…"

China smiled and shook the Italian's hand. He tried to treat him like a grown up. Romano was a nation, after all. He may look young but he was older then the others on the ship. Save China himself.

"Say hello to your brother for me aru."

Romano scowled harder at the mention of his brother. Why did Italy get to stay at home and paint and get chased around by the Holy Roman Empire all day while _he_ had to go to China to trade? That really wasn't fair but he was to one with most of the coastline.

Romano sighed again, and nodded goodbye to China. China smiled brightly at the young nation and walked off the boat. He turned around and waved as Romano's boat soon left the dock. Soon, the boat was just a speck in the distance. That's when China let himself frown.

He felt like something was wrong, that something terrible was about to happen. But he couldn't place the feeling. Maybe it was because of what he just gave Romano...? No, that was silly.

"Yao? What's wrong?"

A new voice broke him out of his thoughts. China turned to a worked that was staring at him worriedly. China blinked, realizing that the worker was waiting for an answer. He smiled. "Nothing's wrong! Do you need something?"

The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't push the subject. "There is a man to trade with you. He has a white mask and a little child with a cat with him."

China nodded. So Ottoman was here, huh? And he brought Greece. The child must have destroyed his house last time Ottoman had left him there alone.

He called his panda back to him and began walking over to where Ottoman was but not before looking at the spot the ship had disappeared at earlier. China still couldn't shake the feeling. He shook his head and continued to walk.

He could only hope that the western nations could survive what ever was coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Romano ran as fast as his legs could carry him, with a preacher not far behind. Luckily, it was a young one, so he could keep up.

They ran, dodging people as they past. They finally made it to the house, with Romano running right into the house, as a nation cannot catch the illness, while the preacher stopped outside to talk to the doctor.

Romano panted for a second before catching his breath. When he heard of the illness that had already hit a few of his people, he rushed as soon as he could. He wanted to see for himself how bad it was and what he had to tell his brother when Romano visited him in Venice next week.

What sight met him was not what he expected. The young girl, only a few years older than he looked, looked sickly in the bed. She was covered in swellings, which were a dark purple color. He could tell she had a very high fever and around her mouth was dried blood.

The preacher came in and starting asking questions to the girl's family.

"I know you already told the doctor this and the doctor just told me but I need to hear it from you. What happened to her," he gestured to the girl, "In the last few days?"

Romano didn't even look to see which one answered.

"It started with a headache. Then chills and fever, which left her exhausted. She experienced nausea, some back pain, soreness in her arms and legs." It sounded like the father. "Yesterday, the swellings appeared. Last night they turned purple, they were red first. She felt she needed to sleep all day yesterday, so we let her. Now we cannot wake her."

There was a pause, Romano guessed the preacher nodded, and the preacher began to speak again.

"I'm sorry but your daughter is most likely die," The mother cried out and muffled her cries against the father shoulder. Or, at least, that's what it sounded like. "I will pr-"

He was cut off by the girl coughing violently. Romano's eyes widened. She was coughing up _blood_ and a lot of it. The dry blood around her mouth was covered with the fresher blood in seconds.

As the mother and, what he guessed, sister were trying to wipe off the blood, he ran out of the house and to the nearest inn as fast as he could. He ran to the room that he and the preacher, he had traveled with the preacher from Rome, shared and hid his face in the pillow. He did not want to remember the sight of that girl so sickly or the swellings on her body or the amount of blood that came out of her mouth. He just wanted to forget all of it!

He soon calmed down enough to fall asleep.

..…..

The next morning, he was shook awake by the preacher. Romano slowly opened his eyes, not wanting to get up, and faced a grim-faced preacher.

"Get up. I need to hold a few funerals then we need to go to the next town."

Romano closed his eyes and buried his head back into the pillow. When will this end?

"What about..." He started to say but the preacher cut him off.

"I can't understand you if your in the pillow."

He sat up and scowled. But it was shorted lived. "What about… the girl?"

The preacher looked at him sadly and shook his head.

This story has been in my mind for the past few days so I wrote it! YAY!

I'll continue it when I get some reviews!

Fun fact about the plague…

It came from China( or, at least, that's what most people think) and even though I didn't show it in the last chapter, it hit China pretty hard. It then came from the trade routes to South Italy where it soon spread to Venice in the north and France and Spain through trading routes.


	3. Chapter 3

France smiled and looked out over the sea. It was very beautiful today. Much like him.

He had needed to get away from England, so he had gone down south to one of his beautiful port cities: Marseilles.

He looked over to a ship just pulling in and smiled. But then he noticed something that made him frown. Where were all the crewmembers? There was no one at the anchor, no one at the mast, and the captain wasn't at the wheel. The deck was deserted and it felt like a cemetery.

France frowned deeper and walked over to the crowd who were just as confused as he was. They were finally able to pull the boat in to dock, as it was just drifting close enough, and sent up a plank from the dock to the ship. Some of the workers walked on and France made a move to follow them. But one of the workers who didn't know who he was stopped him.

"I'm sorry sir but you need to stay here," But France just shook him off and walked on the ship anyways. The man was stopped from stopping him again by one of his co-workers came up and explained that that was _France_.

The first thing France noticed when he stepped on the ship was that the deck wasn't as deserted as everyone thought. They just couldn't see it from the dock but the deck had 4 or 5 _dead bodies_.

A violent coughing fit snapped France out of his trance and made him jump. Ok, maybe not all of them were dead... But even the one that proved to be alive didn't have much time left. So France calmly, or as calm as he could muster as he was quietly freaking out over the dead bodies, walked over to the "alive" man and knelt down beside him, careful not to get to close to the blood puddle that was forming near his head.

But after a few minutes, it became clear that the man was now dead and France, seeing no reason to stay on the ship, quickly stood up and went back to the docks. The other workers that went on the ship soon followed him out and the ship was emptied of the goods from Italy. Then it was quickly pushed out to open water and set on fire, as hopes that whatever killed the crew wouldn't spread. Everyone was put at ease with this and continued their day as they would normally.

However, France couldn't help but feel that they hadn't seen the last of the illness.

...

_"Francia,___

_Sé que estás enojado conmigo por mi rey acuerdo para el príncipe para casarse con la princesa de Inglaterra y ser su aliado, pero mi amigo, creo que tenemos grandes problemas en este momento. Mi pueblo se está muriendo y es de la misma cosa que mató a los miembros de la tripulación de un barco desde Italia! Y yo sé que tu pueblo se está muriendo, así ... "___

_("France,___

_I know you are mad at me for my king agreeing for the prince to marry England's princess and being his ally but mi amigo, I think we have bigger problems right now. My people are dying and it's from the same thing that killed the crewmembers from a ship from Italy! And I know your people are dying as well...")__  
_  
France stopped reading the note from Spain (the poor man was so frantic that he had forgotten to write it in the nations language) and looked up at the 5th funeral he attended today.

Yes, they had not seen the last of the illness.


	4. Chapter 4

Italy sobbed.

He hated all this death! As a nation, he felt every one of his people that died and even now, he and his brother had gotten signs if the illness.

Not that he had it. Nation cannot get sick from normal illness. No, they had signs because it was affecting so many of their people. Luckily, clothing covered the signs.

He looked up and tried to stop crying. He heard yelling. What was going...?

On no! It was that time a day again, wasn't it? He walked over from the tree he was standing under to the street where the people were gathered.

Bands of hooded men, wearing white robes marked front and back with a red cross, were moving to and fro down the path, attempting to atone for the ravages of the Black Death by whipping themselves in ritual public ceremonies.  
The Flagellant Brahren, as they are known, believe that the plague is a punishment for human sin, and that by scourging themselves they can show mankind's repentance. Italy thought they were idiotos, not that he would say that out loud. He was too nice.

They had 70 men, and are highly organized. Led by a layman - the master - they move from town to town to perform their rituals. For the past few days they had been traveling through this small town.

Singing hymns and sobbing, the men beat themselves with scourges studded with iron spikes. Blood gushes from their many wounds, and the spikes embed themselves in the torn flesh. The ritual is performed in public twice each day. And Italy hated.

Fresh tears sprung up at the sight of the blood and the self-inflicted pain. He let them fall freely, not even trying to hold then back. He had given up on that when this had all started.

Such exhibitions are highly influential, much to the boy's displeasure. All ready, the men and women around him began cheering. Italy turned to a man near him. The man had been nice to him in the last few days and he was the only one in town that trusted him, an outsider who, in their minds, carried the illness.

"Flaviu, why are they cheering? This is an terrible practice!"

The man, Flaviu, looked at him and his frown deepened. He was one of the few who hated the practice as much as Italy. "The establishment may focus their attacks on church corruption and their promotion of a wave of savage anti-Semitism but the masses worship the flagellants as living martyrs. Their deeds are to be admired and their commands to be carried out." The blond looked back at the men covered in blood. "Or, at least, that is what my son told me…"

Italy looked down to the ground in sadness. Flaviu's son, Eugen, had fallen to the illness not long after Italy had gotten to the town. This death, of course, cause many more people to think he was a carrier or, and this one was silly to him, that he was a Jew. But Flaviu still trusted him, saying that if he had the illness, he would of died from it by now.

Suddenly, he couldn't take the sobs. He couldn't take the sound of singing and cheers or the sight of blood. He couldn't take any of it so he ran. As fast as he could, he ran toward the entrance of the town.

He faintly recognized Flaviu's voice calling after him and that someone was behind him, but he didn't care! Wasn't there a place in Italy he could hide? He was a nation but this wasn't war! He couldn't do anything to help his people and he couldn't take much more death. He hated to see his people in pain, and it was even worse when it was self-harm.

Finally, he tripped, just outside the town and started to sob violently. Suddenly, he was picked up and held gently. Someone started to rub his back and telling him that everything was going to be all right.

Italy clung desperately to Flaviu and his sobs calmed down to soft crying. Italy desperately wanted to believe him but the small Italian knew everything wouldn't be all right.


	5. Chapter 5

England smiled.

Joan was such a pretty girl. She was quite fair and her betrothed was lucky to have her. She was betrothed to Peter of Castile, son of Alfonso XI of Castile and Maria of Portugal. Much better then one of France's as she was originally. After a few fights and some begging( though he would deny the he had begged) but he had finally gotten his boss to agree to wed his daughter to someone else.

"Are you ready to go, sir England?" asked one of the servants. England nodded, took the house the servant was handing him, and followed his princess off the boat.

Joan left England with the blessing of her parents. Thanks to a heavily-armed retinue she was, perhaps, the most protected woman of Europe at this time.

England looked around. He raised an eyebrow. His king, Edward III, had spared no expense in the preparations for Joan's journey and marriage, equipping her in the most impressive manner he could. The King loved his daughter, England knew that, but it's very likely that he also wanted to make a display of power and wealth before his allies in Castile.

Joan's entourage included three leading officials: Robert Bouchier, the former royal chancellor; Andrew Ullford, a diplomatic lawyer; and the cathedral priest of Bordeaux, Gerald de Podio, who was to see to the Princess's spiritual needs. Joan also had a remarkable Castilian minstrel, Gracias de Gyvill, who had been dispatched to England by Prince Pedro in order to entertain her with music and songs of the land of which she was to be Queen.

The Princess was also escorted by over a hundred formidable English bowmen, some of them veterans of the Battle of Crecy, and she even travelled with a luxurious portable chapel, so that she could enjoy Catholic services without having to use the local churches all along the way to Castile. The chapel was covered in gold. England shook his head. This was all to much. And the wedding dress!

Joan's wedding dress was made with more than 150 meters of rakematiz, a thick imported silk, but she also had a suit of red velvet, two sets of twenty four buttons made of silver gilt and enamel, five corsets woven with gold patterns of stars, crescents and diamonds and... Well, you get the picture.

England sighed. This is way too much stuff. He gonna go broke! But at least, the other countries will be impressed.

As they entered Bordeaux, something felt off to England. Everyone looked like they were being forced outdoors and no one would go near each other. There were multiple people being buried and no children were playing. Or outside at all. All in all, the town felt very gloomy.

"England! You mustn't come through here!"

England looked in the direction of the voice and scowled when he saw it was France. He stopped his horse and spoke to the other blonde.

"What do you mean? I can go anywhere I bloody choose! I am allowed to pass through your country, you bloody frog!"

France frowned. He just shrugged and walked away. England rolled his eyes but couldn't help but notice the frog was limping. He shrugged and continued on, ignoring the feeling that something bad was about to happen...

...

Robert Bouchier, the leader of the retinue, died on 20 August.

Addie Wardan, the princess' handmaiden, died on 15 August.

Radford Moore, a horse handler, died on 18 August.

Many other members in their party died.

Despite the severe outbreak of plague in Bordeaux, and France's warning, at first it did not occur to Joan and her advisors to leave town. England wished they did.

Soon, they watched in horror as the members of the entourage began falling sick and dying.

Joan and England feared for her life and was moved probably to a small village called Loremo, where she remained with her country for some time. However, she could not escape the disease and became its first victim in the camp, suffering a violent and quick attack and dying on 2 September 1348. England was heartbroken, as he was when ever his royalty died. But this time, it was worse. He could of done something. He could of listened to France and left. But he didn't. He didn't leave...

... He didn't save his princess...


	6. Chapter 6

Prussia had a horrible sense of foreshadowing.

Every nation had the sense. It told them when one action was going to lead to something else. Though they didn't know if it was next month or in a hundred years, but they knew it was going to happen. And Prussia had a sense this was going to end badly for Poland.

Right now, an illness was making everyone sick. In fact, at this very moment, Prussia was sitting beside the Holy Roman Empire's bed, watching the boy illness induced sleep, even if he, himself, was sick. All of Europe felt it.

But their people were blaming the Jews. They were killing them for no reason. And the Jews were running. Right to Poland. And this is where Prussia's sense came in.

Prussia knew Poland felt it. That taking in the Jews was going to end badly but he did it anyway. It just made Prussia's respect of the cross dresser rise. He only hoped it wouldn't end _too _badly for the blond.

_**The Germanic Jews were being killed and they ran to Poland. This ended badly in WWII, didn't it? I'm sorry I didn't update sooner, but I had writers block. I'm going to write a chapter with the Nordics and then one for Russia, then it should be over.**_

_**~Dixe C. Jones **_


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